


My Soul Upon the Forfeit

by bittenfeld



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Mirror Universe, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Bondage, Brutality, Explicit Sexual Content, Forced Mind Meld, M/M, Rape, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-24 22:21:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1619063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bittenfeld/pseuds/bittenfeld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New - Final - Chapter 2:  What happens when the mate-bond between Kirk and Spock gets tangled with that of their mirror counterparts during the inter-phase transfer mishap?<br/>Mirror Spock will deal with Mirror Kirk’s vicious jealousy roughly, forcing it to a head; at the same time craving the other Kirk from the regular universe, and ultimately choosing which one he will keep as his own.</p><p>This is the third of a four-part series, each dealing with a different pairing<br/>#1 – Brightly as a King   (Mirror Kirk / Spock)<br/>#2 – Affections Dark as Erebus  (Mirror Kirk / Mirror Spock)<br/>#3 – My Soul Upon the Forfeit  (Kirk / Mirror Spock)<br/>	#4 – A Secret Harmony  (Kirk / Spock)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I wonder what the captain is planning right now. He has left me in command this afternoon while he has ostensibly gone down to Engineering to assist Mister Scott on a project. A project which he has not yet seen fit to enlighten me upon.

I find myself aimlessly stroking a finger over the beard hairs at the side of my mouth again. I stop myself – it is a nervous mannerism which I have acquired in the past seven months and ten days since our bond was strained during the dimensional interphase situation. Since that day, my bond-mate has not trusted me, and has expressed his displeasure in a thousand subtle and less-than-subtle vengeances.

I do no begrudge him his anger, because I did indeed take the other James Kirk to our bed and pleasure myself in the warm flesh of the captain of that other Enterprise. But now our bond has become a cruel chain shackling us both together, breakable only at the cost of both our lives. He torments me incessantly, deliberately baiting me on the bridge in front of the other crew, questioning my judgments, ordering me to work multiple shifts to fatigue me, abusing his command rank over me as my superior officer. And even in the privacy of our shared quarters, where I command, still he torments me, patronizingly working himself and me to erection, teasing my burning flesh to the limit, then deliberately refusing me release, denying me his body until, in overpowering need, I rape his flesh and his mind. And he laughs at me, even as I ravage him deep inside, because we both know that rape does not satisfy the true need in my blood, that the very violence of the act destroys the chance for true communion which deep mate-bonding craves, and I am left empty, with nothing but my physical drive temporarily sated.

The other captain shares a very intimate communion with his first-officer. I saw it in his mind, and so I joined with him to seek it out and pleasure myself in the sweet sensation which eludes me in my own bonding. At first he struggled as I entered his body and mind, but then he allowed me access, and I sank into him deeply. I found that I could not consummate within him, but I did experience their supportive union, so different from the raw need which locks my own captain and me together.

Yet since then, my hunger has grown worse. For even though I gained profound satisfaction from that other man, it is still my own bond-mate whom I desire; but now how clearly I see in comparison the cruel parody that our own desperate couplings truly are.

I wonder what my captain is doing right now. I send seeking tendrils of thought in his direction, and find him, but do no more than barely touch the surface of his mind. He hates my ability to read his mind, because of the ultimate power it gives me over him; hates it and hates me when I touch him privately at any time other than during our nightly coition. He allows our mind-joining for purposes of commanding the Enterprise’s missions, but beyond that he will not allow me into his personal thoughts. Of course I could easily take them – as I have on occasion, and gained his punishment (as if he thinks the torment of an agonizer is anything close to the torment of his nightly condescension of our bond) – but after the few hours of the interphase ordeal, he has actually threatened to destroy us both to end the bond, if I do not allow him the privacy of his own mind or attempt to usurp his superior authority aboard this vessel through mental manipulations. And I believe that he is not bluffing.

The command chair intercom buzzes; I press the transceiver switch. “Spock here.”

“Spock,” the captain’s voice addresses me, “come to my quarters. I need your assistance.” His tone is level, belying no undercurrent of antagonism at this time.

“I shall be there, Captain,” I reply. I look to the Asian helmsman seated to my left at the navigation console before the command chair. “Mister Sulu, you have the bridge.”  
* * * * *

“Come in, Spock,” the familiar voice offers from the bed-chamber, as the cabin door slides open.

I lower my mental shields as I step into the dimly-lit room – and suddenly realize why he has called me here, even before I enter the sleeping-alcove. Our bond scintillates with an energy surge, and in addition I sense a parallel trace flaring brightly – a parallel which I have not felt for seven months and ten days.

Beside the bed stands my captain, stripped to the waist, skin sweat-spangled, a doubled-up belt in his hand hanging by his side. A cold smile pulls his lips, his eyes looking directly at me, bright with urgency, excitement, arousal.

And on the bed lies my captain’s twin from that other universe, face-up, naked, wrists bound over his head to the bed frame, ankles tied together. Bruises mark his sweaty skin, agonizer burns redden his inner thighs. He too looks at me, his eyes bright like those of a man who knows that he is going to die soon – and not easily.

In the aura of this man, my blood surges; heat swells my genitals. Need arises in my flesh. And my own captain still smiles at me.

“Go ahead,” he urges, “why don’t you greet him? I thought you’d enjoy seeing your fantasy lover again, so I brought him back to our universe just for you.”

“How?” I ask calmly, hoping to mask my arousal. “There has been no magnetic shift between dimensional planes, no ionic disturbances.”

“No,” he acknowledges readily. “Scotty and I artificially re-created the effect through the transporter dynamics. We did a study of the record tapes from the original incident and worked out the calculations. You’re not the only mathematical genius aboard this ship, Mister Spock.”

I feel my eyebrow rise. “Obviously not.”

“Anyway, where are your manners, Spock? Your friend has come a long way to be with you. Why don’t you kiss him hello? I haven’t even touched him yet,” – he shrugs with the belt in his hand – “except to soften him up a little before you got here. So, you get first chance… at fucking him.”

Ire roils within; yet also I feel my chest clench with unwilled emotions, my penis engorge in my tightening uniform trousers. “Captain,” I insist, “this is not necessary.”

“Oh yes it is,” he smiles, and gaze drops to the betraying bulge in my pants. “Obviously it is.”

The man on the bed watches me. “Damn you,” he says.

My captain’s smile mutates into a sneer, arm slashes across; the leather strap in his grasp explodes across the bound man’s face with a loud crack, snapping his head to the side. A sharp gasp escapes bruised lips, watering eyes squeeze shut. Clenched muscles tremble, then squirm against the tight bindings. Then slowly he turns his gaze back to us, wetness leaking from the corners of his eyes. The side of his face is red; in a short time it will swell.

“Captain,” I insist again of my own Kirk, “If you wish for me to pleasure you, I will do so.”

“I don’t wish for you to pleasure me. I wish for you to fuck him. What’s wrong, Spock? you enjoyed doing it before. You made me feel it in my mind, everything you did to him. Now I want to watch you do it again.”

“I do not want to do this.”

“I don’t give a damn what you want. Fuck him, Spock, that’s an order – or have you forgotten that I’m your commanding officer?”

“I have not forgotten,” I assure. “But have you forgotten that I cannot consummate with him? You are my mate, he is not.”

“Oh, you’ll consummate with me – after we’ve both worked inside of him. Right now I want to watch you screw him.”

My captain’s twin eyes me with apprehension, with hatred. A growl moans in his throat as though he wants to speak but knows that he’ll received the belt across the face again if he does. Already his cheek is swelling from the previous blow, his eyes still water.

I cannot control the throbbing in my organ, even though I know this is just another taunting game that my mate is playing with me. It is a Vulcan curse, perhaps meant as some sort of compensation for our usual dearth of sexual activity, that in the vicinity of an aroused bond-mate, a male’s responses cannot be quelled without coitus and consummation. And I am cursed to be drawn to two bond-mates, one of whom is not – quite – my own.

Almost of their own accord, my fingers touch my swelling, trace lightly over the bulk beneath the black material. A sigh breathes from my throat. I feel my captain’s excitement, his arousal. He is predictable: the sight of my erection pleases him immensely, and he craves it inside himself despite his needlings and torments. He needs our conjunction as much as I. I sense him straining him toward me, even though he has not actually physically moved – he wants it badly. But he wants something else even more: he wants vengeance upon his twin.

And my aroused flesh and mind cannot resist the naked man bound to the bed before me. I seek to renew the memories of a warm moist tightness and a warm sweet mind. This other Kirk, as handsome as my own, watches me warily. I can smell the fear-sweat on him, sense the intensity of his thoughts. I am drawn to him as much as I was seven months ago. There exudes an energy from him quite unlike my own Kirk’s, something which addicted me the first time I contacted it. And I cannot resist it now.

“No!” he suddenly cries out, pulling his knees up and rolling onto his side to protect his vulnerable parts. Sparking hazel eyes never leave my face. He resisted the first time as well, before finally surrendering to me, although then I had not bound him, nor did we perform in front of an observer. I reach out with both hands, grasp his naked shoulders. The memories flare brilliant at the touch of familiar flesh. He squirms, bucks in my grip. “No!” he demands again, writhing as best he can with wrists bound over his head. His bound feet try to kick, but he has no leverage against me as I hold him down. “Damn you, no!” he swears, no longer mindful of the belt in the other man’s hands. “Goddamn you, Spock!”

My captain chuckles. “Well, Spock, it seems that your fantasy lover no longer desires you. How does it feel being the one rejected now?” The humor fades. “Get on with it, both of you. Someone could die of boredom waiting for you to get down to work.” Again he swings the belt; this time, lands a cracking blow to his twin’s bare buttocks turned toward him. The Kirk beneath me yelps, jerks uselessly to get away.

Another blow to that tender ass, another cry of pain. And then heat explodes across the backs of my thighs as well – I jerk as hard as the body beneath me, and anger explodes in our bond. “Damn you!” I swear, seizing the strap from his hands and throwing it to the floor. His eyes mock me without remorse. Pain stings my flesh, and the man on the bed moans his own suffering.

And then I know what I must do.

My gaze settles once more on the rebellious face of the twin. With one hand I touch his hair; with the other I stroke my pulsing organ. He pulls away – I clutch a fistful of sweat-damp hair and pull his head back to me. Angry eyes hate me. I feel the tension of my arm muscles, the tension of his neck and shoulders. The energy of this man at the control of my own strength is a potent aphrodisiac. I lean down to kiss his mouth. His lips do not respond to the caress, but pull into a defiant line. I do not blame him. We are both prisoners in this absurdity. My beard brushes his cheeks and chin and I kiss him again forcefully, then raise from his face. My organ is throbbing fiercely, swellling to near-fullness, pleasure dances in my loins simply from kissing this one whom I thought never to see again.

“I have no wish to humiliate or hurt you,” I try to reassure him. “But I must take you. My flesh will not be denied. You are bonded to a Vulcan – you know the insatiable need of your own mate.”

“I know this is rape,” he snaps bitterly. “So don’t try to pretend it’s anything else. Just do it and get it over with.” His struggles cease and he turns his face away. His chest heaves with rapid irregular breaths, face tight with mental and physical distress.

My bond-mate smiles. “Well, go ahead, Spock. He’s begging for it now.”

I turn again to my bond-mate, take his chin in my grip. I am powerfully aroused by him as well. He does not pull away, but neither does he drop the amused countenance. I look down into hazel eyes. “This is unnecessary,” I reiterate. “You have already punished me many times over for taking this man seven months ago.”

“Maybe I have,” he allows, and his vibrancy flows through our touching flesh. “But I have never punished _him_. I want to see him humiliated, as I was humiliated when you took him and cuckolded me. You owe me that, Spock.”

My had releases his jaw, fingers stroke down a vulnerable throat. “I no longer owe you for that trespass,” – I feel the quickened pulse in a throbbing carotid; the quiver expands in our link, enters my own blood, centers in my genitals – “however, I shall grant you this one satisfaction… on my terms.” I am very quickly losing control of sexual suppression; in the presence of these two humans, a familiar fire kindles and simmers in my loins.

This male human in my hands shrugs with a small careless smile. “Whatever you say, Spock.”

My hands slide across bare smooth thick-set shoulders, grip hard-muscled arms, jerk his body an inch closer to mine. I can smell his unique scent, feel his erection pressed to mine. “I shall take him, but you will not,” I pronounce. “And after I take him, I shall take you. And then you will release him and allow him to return to his own universe. And this entire matter will then be considered closed, and you will act as my proper bond-mate for the rest of our lives without mockery or condescension.”

He looks up at me, this man, so strong among his own kind, yet so helpless in the grip of Vulcan strength, and still he smiles that self-assured quirk of lips.

“Do it,” he orders simply.

I watch him, read what I can in that commanding gaze, then release his shoulders and step back. I remove my tunic and sash and scarf, then turn toward the angry man on the bed.

And suddenly my bond-mate grasps my face as I had held his, grips my chin, my beard, forces a demanding kiss on my lips, thrusts his tongue into my mouth. Then just as quickly he lets go, turns away from me and steps close to the head of the bed. He looks down callously at the man who could be his twin brother, and demands of me, “Make it hard… and take your time.” Finger and thumb pinch an already-bruised nipple, twist it and pinch it harder until a bruised face tightens in pained response, then the searching hand slides down to stinging red buttocks.

I pull my boots off, and stand them by the bed.

My Kirk is speaking quietly to the other. “It’s a shame that Spock won’t let me in you, my brother. I’ve been curious why he prefers you over me. Is it because maybe you’re hotter inside than I am? Let’s find out just how hot you are.” A finger jabbing through a clenched anus punctuates his comment.

His twin jerks and gasps with the abrupt stimulation, face grimaces as the finger probes him inside. The prodding is callous, negligent, obviously painful. I wonder how much my captain has already abused his victim – what did he do to him before calling me from the bridge? Evidence of cruel treatment discolors the twin’s face and thighs and buttocks.

I have no wish to hurt him any more, but neither can I ignore the insistence between my legs. Watching the digital rape causes my testicles to move in their sac, my penis to leak. I divest myself of constricting trousers, briefs. My captain smiles a humorless smile at me, at my upward-thrusting column of flesh, and works his finger deeper inside a warm moist tunnel. The man on the bed protests with angry growls, squirming body. He too watches me, gaze fixated on the thick rod which will soon replace the finger massaging his tender opening.

Yet I must do what I must do to this man, if ever I am to change my captain’s attitude toward our bond.

I touch myself in the view of both these humans, both these bond-mates of Vulcan blood. With one hand I gently squeeze the swollen heavy scrotal sac; with the other I grip the blood-engorged shaft. My fist slides up and down the slick skin covering hard flesh, nerve ends quiver in delight at my masturbation. The leaking pre-ejaculate oozes between my fingers, dribbles over my hand. I see my captain’s tongue flick out to touch his lips – I know he is unaware of the unconscious response. The other man is tight, tense, wary. That is unfortunate: he will find the penetration very painful and difficult, if he cannot relax.

I feather-touch my thumb to the moist velvet-soft glans, luxuriating in the shivery tingles that race up to my loins. Ever so delicately I massage the leaking orifice… the sensation surges over me, threatening orgasm right then and there, but that is not my purpose.

The hunger in my captain’s eyes is raw, as he watches my self-arousal; he is hardly aware anymore of the captive body on the bed fighting intrusive probing. His face is flushed, sweaty, as I am sure another part of his body is also flushed and damp. As he subconsciously responds to my thoughts through the link, suddenly he withdraws his finger from the other man’s rectum, then hastily shoves down his own trousers to release his swelling genitals and grip them in imitation of my own intense activity. The engorged human penis is indeed a pleasing dusky-rose tint, so very different from my own olive coloration. A pearl of mucus oozes from the tip, and he sighs.

With a final squeeze to the swollen bulk of my testicles, I let go of myself, then kneel on the bed. Deliberately I shift my attention to this other man who shares none of my Kirk’s arousal, but only fear and anticipation of deeper pain. He genitals are partially swollen from the forced digital massage, but still soft and loosely-skinned in the nest of brown pubic curls.

I climb over him on hands and knees, acutely aware of my Kirk’s anxious / angry / jealous emotional rise. For all his commands for me to fuck this other man as punishment, he is the one who is punished by the thought of seeing me take another. I only wish that he would not demand this mockery of us all, but release the old incident concerning his twin and allow the two of us to expand our bonding, let it deepen and grown naturally as it should.

Yet if I have calculated properly, that will be the ultimate result of this ordeal.

I touch the man beneath me, lay a hand on the side of his head and enter the maelstrom of his emotions. “Don’t fight me,” I urge. “You will be hurt if you do.”

He pulls away from my touch. “Damn you,” he condemns bitterly. “Am I supposed to be grateful that only one of you is going to rape me instead of both of you?”

“Captain, this is not your universe. I would advise you not to judge it as such.”

“Rape is rape.” And he says no more.

And there is nothing more to say. I roll him over; he protests momentarily, then surrenders, realizing full well that a bound human hasn’t even the breath of a chance against Vulcan determination. I raise up his hips, urge his bent knees under him. He hunches there for me; head down on the pillow, pale ass in the air. A vulnerable position which arouses me well enough when my own human assumes it… and I am unbearably aroused right now.

My captain stands near, watching his twin’s face half-buried between chained arms. I can read every thought bitingly clear. He wants me in himself; as he watches me prepare to sodomize his counterpart, he masturbates firmly and imagines that it is he kneeling before me, and my masturbating hands are tugging insistently at his responding flesh… _soon, my captain, soon_ …

With semen-slick hands, I separate pale-pink buttocks. Bruises splotch the tender flesh. This Kirk shudders, half from fear, and half from shame, as I view him intimately. I touch the private opening; he jerks. I touch it, smear viscid fluid into the cleavage, then press the tight sphincter again. I feel him tighten to deny me entrance. I push a finger in, feel a surge of resentment in his mind. And in my own mind I experience regret that this will not be like our joining of seven months ago; and I must admit that I too am not immune from jealousy and envy, to know that there is another Spock who is welcomed eagerly into this man’s body and mind and soul.

Yet I have my own mate; and right now he is working himself insistently, while his mind radiates anger, but a different anger from that of his twin. However, he had demanded this, and so I deliberately lower all shields in our bond-link to allow him to feel everything I do as I position myself behind waiting buttocks, take my hard probe in hand, and force myself into the already stimulated channel, so warm and slick with mucus.

Two Kirks moan with penetration. I release a sigh of pleasure. My penile head enters; exquisite sensations dance over the spongy tip. The man beneath me cries out as my shaft rubs against his prostate. His fingers clutch the bedspread, a shudder trembles through his body. I grasp his hips and push in, deeper and deeper, stretching him open to accommodate me. I know he is forcibly stifling sobs of distress. I have no wish to cause him distress, but the pleasure of impaling the husky human body far overwhelms all other considerations. Power and domination surge through me so arousingly. I try desperately to hold my climax until I am fully ensheathed – and until my Kirk reacts, as I expect him to.

And my Kirk does react. A snarled “No!” bursts suddenly from his lips as he orgasms a series of convulsive spurts of semen onto his rival’s face and back. The Kirk beneath me writhes in humiliation, squirms as much as his chains and the weight of my body will allow. The milky fluid dribbles down his exposed cheek and shoulders. He rubs his face on the pillow, smearing the fluid on his skin.

My mate grabs at me, his face a mask of anger and excitement. “No!” he demands again, attempting to pull me off the body with which I am coupled. But his lesser human strength, particularly in the lassitude of climactic fatigue, cannot dislodge me.

Nevertheless, I disengage from the exquisite tightness of the human beneath me, and turn my attention to the other. I grab him as I slide off the bed, and in one continuous motion, slam him against the bulkhead. His breath gasps out of him.

My weight presses him to the wall, one hand grips his shoulder, the other his jaw. His startlement gives way to excited belligerence – this he understands and thrives on. My mouth covers his in a savage kiss, my tongue forces into a warm wet cavern, takes control, tastes him all inside, tries to ram down his throat. I smell his sweat and his arousal. He want to fight, and he wants to be taken. And I shall give him what he wants.

The fire of our bond crackles with electric energy. He writhes against me as though to free himself, but he doesn’t truly wish to be free. My hand at his shoulder slides around his waist, jerks him tightly to myself; the bulge of my interrupted passion rams his belly, demanding compensation; I feel his own softening cock squeezed between our bodies.

I hold him in the brutal kiss until I feel his struggles intensify as he begins to choke. Only then do I release his mouth, and he gasps for breath. I feel his chest heave against mine, his nipples hard with arousal against my chest, his breath hot against my flushed skin.

“Captain,” I whisper into his ear and into his mind. My fingers slide into gold-shot brown hair, jerk his head back. Bright hazel eyes dance on my face. “Captain, tell me what you want,” I demand, and my voice sounds rough to my own ears. “You told me to take your twin, but then you stopped me. Why?”

He clutches at my back, body corded and rigid against mine. “Because I can’t stand to see you in him, to see you touch him!... _I’m_ your bond-mate, touch _me_!… Goddamn you, Spock, don’t make me beg!...”

Such power radiating from this being in my grasp, as one must sense standing within the intermix flux of the warp engines. A dynamism of destructive magnitude, yet utterly controlled by the finesse of my touch.

My organ weeps against his belly, its own build-up of power in need of ultimate release. My control trembles on the edge of absolute dissolution. And when it fails, then will I sheathe myself to the hilt in this tanned muscled flesh which I crave… and own completely.

“Do you want me in you?” I tease softly, intensely.

“Yes!” Fire rages beneath sweat-drenched skin.

Our bond sinks ever deeper.

“And will you release the other from your vengeance and never taunt me with him again?”

“Yes, Spock!... please…”

Our minds are merging as he allows me deeper, deeper, into his self-essence.

“And will you accept our complete bonding now, as you agreed four years ago?”

“God yes Spock! I accept!... please, Spock, now, please!!...” His body shudders with overwhelming tension.

My hands grip husky upper arms, my beard caresses his jawline as I whisper into his ear. “Then know the union of our bonding, James Kirk.” And I take him roughly to the carpet beside the bed; maneuver that muscular compact body face-down, knees spread, firm buttocks inviting, offered to me completely, utterly…

  
_to be continued…_

 

_“I dare be bound again,_

_My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord_

_Will never more break faith advisedly.”          – William Shakespeare (1564-1616)_

_“Merchant of Venice” Act V, sc 1_

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirror Spock will deal with his Mirror Kirk’s vicious jealousy roughly, forcing it to a head; at the same time craving the other Kirk from the regular universe, and ultimately choosing which one he will keep as his own.

And the tension overwhelms me then, and I cannot control. My heavy penis forces between his buttocks; my fingers spread the cheeks painfully wide, and I watch as my flared cockhead probes his rosebud anus and pushes in; the little sphincter gives way beneath the demanding pressure, and I sink into the surrendering flesh, possess this body which already possesses the other half of my soul. He moans with pain and pleasure. I could ease his pain, but I choose not to. This joining is raw, and I will take what belongs to me.

Convulsively I thrust a few hard jerks into the tight heat of his rectum, then need boils over and all I know is mindless ramming, my hot fluid bursting into his inner parts, filling him inside, senses pounding with wave after wave of agonizing sweet / sharp release.

And caught in the throes of our mental union, his body responds with an induced second orgasm, nearly as powerful as my own. His seed spatters the carpet even as mine floods his bowels, then he collapses, enervated by the massive strain, and falls into an exhausted sleep.

The powerful energy burst from our combined orgasms frequently affects him so.

Relieved of its full seed, my body too sags in fatigue over my mate. I feel tiny involuntary tremors in the sweaty human-pink flesh beneath; I feel the warm wet head of my penis still buried in his colon, bathed in my own hot juices, still pulsating with sensation. Sleep tugs at me as well, but now is not the time to sleep. Three duties remain to be performed before I can allow myself the luxury of relaxation.

Lying within my mate’s body, I concentrate on our mental conjoining, narrowing the focus to a tight point. There is certain information in his mind which I must assimilate and then take control of his memory and befog the cluster of thoughts… certain information which he shares with Mister Scott. I find the data, memorize it, then proceed to haze it over so that it is no longer useable to him. My technique is so subtle that he will never realize that I have dimmed the clouded memory for him, nor even feel the need to ever search for it again.

And now to fulfill the second duty, I must act on the appropriated information.

I withdraw my softening organ from the slight suction of his colon; it pulls free with a muffled slurpy sound. Pearly mucus tinged with blood dribbles from his anal opening, runs over the smear of his own spilled seed on the rug between his legs. Even in such a humiliating position, the body of my bond-mate excites me and stirs my hormones anew. I shall return to take him again quite soon, and perhaps even allow him into my body, and together we shall continue the renewal of our bond.

But for now I arise from my mate’s unconscious body; and lifting him from the damp-stained carpet, I lay him on the bed beside the crumpled form of his twin. He will remain asleep for an hour or so.

The twin watches me warily. I do not answer his look, but gather my clothing from the floor and enter the bathroom between the captain’s quarters and my own.

There I shower quickly, allowing the soap and hot water to sluice away the sweat and sexual fluid slicking my body, then re-dress in my uniform. The shower has not relieved my continued sexual need; however, that is not of import at this moment. I return to the captain’s quarters, and activate the intercom on his desk. “Doctor McCoy,” I call to Sickbay.

“Here, Spock,” the southern-American accent drawls response. “What do you want?”

“I wish for you to come to the captain’s cabin with your medi-kit.”

“Sure,” the voice acknowledges. “Just give me a hint, Spock – what have you shoved up him this time?”

I do not answer the vulgarity. “Doctor, I expect you here in three-point-two minutes.” I cut the channel before he responds, then enter the bed-chamber once more. “Doctor McCoy is coming to assist you,” I inform the man still shackled to the bed.

“Why?” he demands shakily, “What the hell do you care about me? Aren’t you just going to finish fucking me now?”

I say nothing, but release his chains. Stiffly he rolls over onto his back and rubs his chafed wrists. His face tightens with a myriad assortment of bodily aches.

He looks to the bathroom, then back at me. “Can I use the shower?” he asks. “I don’t want the doctor to see me like this.”

“You may,” I allow. I pick up his clothes from the floor.

He reaches for the uniform in my hands.

I shake my head. “No.”

Defeated bitterness in his eyes again. “Then you _are_ going to rape me again.”

“Captain,” I suggest levelly, “if you wish to shower, please do so now. The doctor will be here within one-point-eight minutes.”

Trying not to limp from the pain in his beaten buttocks, he walks stiffly into the bathroom, slams the door to the shower stall, and turns on the water forcefully.

One-point-four minutes later, the cabin door buzzer sounds. “Come,” I answer, releasing the lock.

Doctor McCoy enters with his kit, and goes immediately to the unconscious form on the bed. “Dammit, Spock,” he accuses, “what have you done to him now?” The doctor is quite familiar with the results of some of our more-intense physical communions.

“He is not the patient, Doctor,” I interrupt.

He turns his attention to me. “Then what’d he do to you? You look as healthy as a horse – oh, excuse me, a well-fed sehlat.”

“Nor am I the patient.”

Just then, the other Kirk steps out of the bathroom with a towel gripped in front of him. Water trickles down his body. Briefly he dries himself, uneasy in the presence of this new intruder. Large bruises mark his face and body.

McCoy looks at him, glances back to the captain on the bed as though his eyes are playing tricks on him, then turns his stare once more onto the man looking at him. “What the hell…”

“Doctor,” I introduce, “this is Captain James Kirk from another Enterprise in an alternate dimension. I believe you spent some time aboard his ship seven months and ten days ago.”

Understanding settles in pale blue eyes. “How’d he get here?”

”That is not your concern, Doctor,” I remind simply. “He is in need of medical assistance. You are to supply that assistance.”

The older man shrugs noncommittally. “Yeah, I’ll bet our captain didn’t appreciate the fact that he’s not the only Jim Kirk in existence. So, this is the other Captain Kirk. I always wondered just how much he’d look like our own.”

“I assure you, Doctor, he is an identical match.”

“You would know, Spock,” he admits dryly, “… and I’ll bet Jim didn’t appreciate that either, and had a little fun with your guest. No wonder he needs a little patching up now.”

I am not interested in his lascivious remarks at present. “The captain has been beaten and sexually used. He must be cleansed and treated.”

“Sure, Spock, whatever you say.” The physician set his kit down on the bed and withdraws a lavage apparatus, then approaches the captain, who backs up warily toward the bathroom.

“No,” Kirk insists adamantly. “I don’t want that. Call him off, Spock. I won’t let him touch me.”

“Captain,” McCoy drawls, continuing to approach the vulnerable man, “I wouldn’t countermand Mister Spock if I were you. Now, he’s ordered you to be cleaned out and treated, and that’s what’s going to happen.”

“No, goddamn you!”

“Captain Kirk,” I address him, deliberately standing in the bathroom doorway, “it is far more practical for you to be awake during the doctor’s treatments. However, if you refuse to coöperate, I shall be forced to render you unconscious while he works on you. Which would you prefer? It is your choice, Captain.”

I see his thoughts in his eyes, as he sizes up non-existent chances for escape. Then his posture shifts infinitesimally with defeat. He does not want his unconscious body subjected to whatever violations might befall him if I follow through with my threat. “Damn you,” he mutters, but does not back up any further.

“Carry on, Doctor,” I order.

The doctor smiles. “My pleasure, Spock.”

“No, Doctor McCoy,” I contradict sharply, “it is not your pleasure – it is your duty.”

The smile fades and the man shrugs casually, then speaks to his patient. “Now, c’mon, Captain, drop the towel, and we’ll get this over with as quickly as possible.”

Cautiously Kirk releases his grip on the towel.

From the doorway I watch the procedure, partly to maintain my presence as a deterrent to any more thoughts of escape, partly because it pleases me to watch, and partly to remind Doctor McCoy that it is indeed his duty and not his pleasure to comply with my commands. He has been known, on numerous occasions, to linger during intimate examinations, and I have no wish at present to subject our guest to such an experience.

After the procedure is completed, McCoy escorts the captain back to the bed, and urges him to lie face-down. Just before he complies, Kirk looks at me, and his eyes are bright with angry unshed wetness.

Efficiently the doctor examines him inside and out, amid the patient’s half-stifled gasps and grunts of discomfort, then packs Kirk internally with ointment-soaked gauze, and smears salve over numerous bruises and abrasions.

Finally McCoy gathers his supplies and stands up. “All right, Spock, I’m done,” he announces. “He’s all yours. Just go easy on him for awhile.” He looks over at the our own captain still lying unconscious on the bed beside his counterpart. Doctor’s-eyes note bruises and blood on that body as well. “And if you need me again after he wakes up, give me a call.”

“I shall, Doctor,” I promise, as the doctor exits the cabin. I lock the door behind him.

Our visitor sits up gingerly on the edge of the bed, watching me as I reënter the bed-chamber. His brow is creased with tension and distrust. “Now what, Spock?” he demands. “Is the doctor right, am I ‘all yours’ now? Am I your prisoner?”

“He is quite correct. As long as you remain aboard this ship, you belong to me.”

“So what do you intend to do with me?”

I offer him his uniform back. “Right now I wish for you to dress.”

“Why? – you’re just going to rip it off me again.”

“You do not trust me.”

“Why should I?” But he takes the proffered clothing and puts it back on, works his feet into his boots.

“I have never lied to you,” I remind him, “either this time, or when we originally crossed paths.”

“Perhaps not,” he admits, “but you’ll be lying right now if you say that you have no intention of raping me again. I can see it in your face.” His eyes drop to the confirming bulge of my groin.

I am fully aware of his gaze and his wariness. “I have no intention of taking you again;” I assure, “however, I would be lying if I said I had no desire to take you again.”

“Well, what’s stopping you? I certainly couldn’t prevent you – you’ve proven that.”

“Captain, I told you earlier not to judge my world’s ethics by your own Federation’s morality. Do not waste your breath accusing me of being different from your Spock, because I am indeed quite different from him. But consider this, James Kirk: Yes, I wish greatly to take you to my chambers right now, remove your clothing, and fill your body with my heat and your mind with my essence. And yes, I could do it over any protest you might offer. But instead, as soon as you are prepared, I shall escort you to the transporter and return you to your own ship.”

Hesitation plays in hazel eyes as he weighs the possibility of my truthfulness, then hardens into command presence. “Then prove it,” he dares. “I’m ready now. Get me the hell out of here.”

I nod acknowledgement and unlock the door.

As we walk through the ship to the transporter room, the few crew-members we pass eye us curiously, surreptitiously. The captain is masking his limp as best he can, but he cannot hide the large swelling marring the right side of his face. Even the skin around his eye has begun to discolor as well. No doubt the crew-men conclude that their captain and I have just emerged from a very energetic sexual session – they would never guess the actual sequence of events.

“Mister Kyle,” I address the transporter operator as we enter the transporter room, “you will remain outside the room, and allow no one entrance.”

“Aye sir,” he defers, and salutes the man who looks like his captain.

But our captain’s twin ignores the formality, too weary to either continue the pretense or reveal the truth. He merely wants to return home as soon as possible to his own Enterprise and his own Spock.

A quiver of envy tingles through my loins and my still-erect organ; and as the door slides shut behind the technician, leaving me alone once again with this man whom I desire, I step before him, blocking his way to the transporter pads.

He looks at me and squares his shoulders – such a keenly familiar gesture. A show of command, despite my control of the situation. He is strongly aware of my erection.

“You said you would not touch me again,” he reminds. “I’m holding you to your word.”

“And I shall remain good to my word,” I assure – and yet how I ache to take this man’s body and mind once more and pleasure us both to ecstasy. “Captain, I am aware that you hate me now, but you must realize that I had no alternative if I was to heal my own captain’s jealousy and also to rescue you from further harm. I did what I deemed necessary.”

“Am I suppose to believe that your motives have been completely altruistic in this occurrence?”

“No, not completely altruistic,” I admit. “For as much as I crave you, I want my own captain more. His jealousy of you has tortured our bond for the past seven months. If this occurrence has brought him back to me, then I do not regret anything which has transpired.”

“What’s to prevent him from snatching me again another day if he ever feels like it sometime?” he demands.

I look down at lips that I want to kiss. “Because when I joined with him just now, while strengthening our bond, I also took the information of how to return you to your dimension and simultaneously wiped it from his mind. When I leave the transporter room, I shall go to Mister Scott and also take the knowledge from him. And later I shall devise a way to modify the computer record of the interphase event to prevent anyone from re-creating the procedure. My captain shall not take you again, nor shall he ever desire to do so again.”

This Kirk smiles, an expression not of amusement but of irony, as I move from his path and go to the control panel, and he mounts the platform. “You melded with your captain and invaded his memory without his permission?” he questions blatantly.

I find his alien morality curious. “Why should I ask permission from one whom I own? As my bond-mate, he belongs to me. I do whatever is necessary for the continuation of the bond.”

The human just shakes his head. “I’m bonded to my Spock, but I don’t belong to him. Our bond is one of equals.”

“Yes, equals,” I agree, “however, I suspect that you do not fully comprehend the subtleties of the Vulcan bond in which you are involved.”

“Perhaps,” he admits, “but don’t you judge the Vulcan ethics of my universe by _your_ standards, Commander.”

I initiate the transporter sequence. “For all the similarities between our dimensions, there are indeed a number of vital discrepancies.” And then I look up at the alien yet familiar face I shall never see again. “Long life and prosperity to you, Captain, and to your Spock.”

“You too,” he replies succinctly, neither friendly nor unfriendly, then his form disintegrates into a pattern of gold sparkle before dissipating completely, leaving the pad empty.

I reset the controls to neutral, then modify the computer record of the sequence. No one will have need any longer of that information, including Mister Scott down in Engineering, whom I shall now visit and relieve of the data.

And then with that duty fulfilled, I shall return to my captain’s quarters. My bond-mate waits for me to awaken him. Although I envy that other Spock – perhaps one day our paths will cross? – I rest satisfied in the reality of the healing between my own captain and myself, and the fact that my Jim Kirk wants me alone. And I shall give him what he wants, perhaps even offer my own body for his penetration. And there will be no interference between us… ever again.

I have made certain of that.

  
* * * * * **FINIS** * * * * *

  _“I dare be bound again,_

_My soul upon the forfeit, that your lord_

_Will never more break faith advisedly.”          – William Shakespeare (1564-1616)_

_“Merchant of Venice” Act V, sc 1_

 


End file.
